


Lose Your Mind

by neko_fish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post Alpha Pack, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neko_fish/pseuds/neko_fish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is getting worse, and all the way over in New York, the only thing Derek can do is listen. Post-03x12.</p><p>Edit: Added a second chapter to this. Contains spoilers for 03x13.<br/>Edit #2: And added a third because what the heck. Contains spoilers for 03x21</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Post 03x12

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my take on how Derek ends up back in Beacon Hills. 
> 
> You can find the alternative (and less serious) version of how Derek and Cora end up back in Beacon Hills [here](http://neko-fish.tumblr.com/post/70170331575/tw-drabble).

The first time Stiles calls, it’s six in the morning.

He doesn’t even know why he picks up—or better yet, he doesn’t know why he still has his phone. After moving back to New York with Cora, he never expected to have to use it again, never expected to hear it ring. At one point, Cora had tried to get him to replace it and get a number with the proper area code and everything, but he decided against it, telling her that there wasn’t a point to it. It was a weak argument at best, but she didn’t press the matter.

Maybe he’s been expecting this call all along, just waiting for it without ever knowing.

It’s six in the morning when he picks up his phone and growls, “What.”

“Hey, wow, hello to you too, Derek,” Stiles greets him breezily.

And suddenly, it’s like he never left Beacon Hills at all.

Keeping his voice down to avoid waking Cora up, he complains, “It’s six in the morning, Stiles.”

“What? Oh, right, time zones. You must be on the east coast then. Well, it’s three in the morning here. I don’t suppose that makes it any better, does it?” Stiles rambles. It’s familiar and it almost makes him miss the boy—if it wasn’t for the fact that he was calling at _six in the morning._

“Why are you calling,” he bites out, irritation leaking into his voice.

“It’s nothing, just thought I’d check in on you and see how things were going wherever you are,” Stiles replies. His voice sounds worn out and unsure. “Seriously, my bad, dude, I didn’t realize what time it was. I’ll just go—”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing. Promise. I just can’t sleep. It’s no biggie,” Stiles reassures him, though the heaviness in his voice suggests otherwise.

“And how long have you been not sleeping?”

There’s a pause.

Stiles lets out a sigh and confesses, “Since everything went down with the Alpha Pack.”

“That was over a month ago, Stiles. And why are you calling me instead of your alpha?” Derek asks out of genuine curiosity.

As far as he’s concerned, this should be something for Scott to deal with because the last he checked, _Scott_ was the Beacon Hills alpha, not him—even when he _was_ the alpha, it was a title he never truly earned. Besides, he’s in New York, even if there _was_ trouble, there’s nothing he can do it from the other side of the country.

“Uhh, because that’d be _rude_?” Stiles says with a scoff. “Because he’s _asleep_?”

He frowns, a familiar feeling of irritation crawling under his skin. It’s a welcomed feeling because at least he knows how to deal with Stiles when he’s being annoying. “So was _I—_ before _you_ called. Why are you calling me instead of Scott?”

“Maybe I just missed the sound of your voice,” Stiles deflects.

“Stiles,” he bites out because it’s way too early in the morning for him to be dealing with this.

His tone makes the boy pause. “I didn’t want to put any more on his plate. Scott’s dealing with enough as it is with witches and his weird threesome tango he’s got going with Isaac and Allison and everything. I don’t actually know why I called. It’s nothing serious—just insomnia. Besides, I didn’t even know if this number would work. Figured you would’ve gotten a new number wherever you are, you know?”

“Yeah, well, apparently I didn’t,” he sighs and lies back down. Just because he’s awake doesn’t mean he’ll get out of bed at this ridiculous hour. “It’s too much of a hassle.”

It’s just a small gesture, just a few words, but it’s enough to let Stiles know that he’s not going to hang up on him. Stiles takes the hint and carries on with the conversation. “So where are you guys now?”

“New York,” he answers.

Stiles makes a contemplative noise. “New York, huh? Never took you to be a big city kinda guy. I guess it’s nice to just blend in with the crowd and be a nobody every once in a while, eh? Not like here, where you’re kind of known for terrible things.”

“And whose fault would that be?” he snarks.

“I’d have to say it was mostly me and Scott, but you didn’t exactly build a very strong case for yourself, you know? But hey, no one’s perfect, and that’s all in the past now, right? Let bygones be bygones. So do you find it weird that a big city like New York’s safer than Beacon Hills?”

Derek doesn’t remember a time when Stiles sounded so exhausted, and instead of answering, he asks, “Have you gotten _any_ sleep at all in the last few weeks?”

“What? Yeah, it really wasn’t that bad. It’s just that lately, I’ve been getting these weird dreams,” Stiles explains.

Although he knows he’ll be better off not knowing, he asks “What kind of dreams?” anyway—because from his experience, weird dreams are rarely _just_ weird dreams.

“I don’t remember. I just know I wake up all freaked out and stuff. Might’ve been something I watched earlier, I’m sure it’ll pass,” Stiles reassures him. Then, in a cheerier tone, he continues, “So, tell me about what you and Cora have been up to in New York! Where do you guys go when the moon’s full? Have you seen any musicals?”

\--

The second time Stiles calls him, it’s seven in the morning, and while it’s still not ideal, he prefers it to the unholy hour of six. He groans and gropes around his nightstand for his phone without opening his eyes. Eventually, he manages to locate it and pulls it to his ear and makes an incoherent noise in lieu of a greeting.

“Oh my god, it’s seven over there, isn’t it? Sorry,” Stiles immediately blurts.

He didn’t think it was possible for Stiles to sound any worse than last time, but he was wrong. “Are you still not sleeping?” he slurs, draping an arm over his eyes with an inaudible groan.

Stiles sighs, “No—well, I tried, and I managed to get in a couple hours earlier, but then I had that dream and woke up again. I remembered part of it this time, though.”

“And?”

“And it was just…everyone. I think they were all saying the same thing about me—I don’t remember what exactly anymore—and then I was staring at my reflection and something was just _wrong_. It was so wrong, like, I can’t even begin to describe how wrong the wrongness felt,” Stiles tells him. “I think it might be that whole darkness thing Deaton told us about, you know, from the Nemeton.”

This gets him to open his eyes and prop up onto his elbows worriedly. It’s a natural reaction to any mention of the Nemeton. “Darkness? Have you talked to Deaton about it?”

“Sort of? There’s really no point yet. I mean, I don’t even know if it’s really that yet, you know?”

“Stiles,” he bites out.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it next time, okay?” There’s clicking in the background. He assumes Stiles is on his laptop, as usual. “Anyway, this whole not sleeping so much thing isn’t so bad. It’s like a completely different place online. I’m playing against someone in Australia, how cool is that?”

“Stiles,” Derek says again.

“Don’t judge me,” Stiles complains. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Any further protest he might’ve had dies. He’s had his fair share of nightmares and can’t find it in himself to fault the boy for not wanting to go back to bed. Instead, he tries to remember what Laura used to do when he awoke from his nightmares.

Talk.

She used to talk to him and bring up fond memories to share with him. But Derek doesn’t have anything to talk to Stiles about. Most of the memories they share are bleak at best; littered with violence and deaths, he would rather just forget it all.

“Is it the same game as the one you were playing last summer?” he asks for lack of better things to say. That summer was the only time they really spent any time together in relative peace.

“Oh, wow, you still remember that?” Stiles sounds impressed. “Yeah, it is.”

“I remember you yelling at your screen,” Derek recalls. “And I remember thinking about what a waste of time it looked.”

As expected, Stiles immediately protests, “Hey! I’ll have you know that online games build interpersonal skills and…”

Adjusting his phone, he lies back down, pulls his blankets over his shoulders and idly listens to Stiles’ rant.

\--

The third time Stiles calls, the sunlight has just started creeping through the blinds. He doesn’t think to check the time because the boy sounds like he’s having a panic attack. Derek props himself up in alarm with his phone pressed against his ear. “Stiles? Stiles! You need to breathe. Calm down and take a deep breath. C’mon, just _breathe_.”

It takes a couple of minutes, but eventually, Stiles manages to get his breathing back in order. “Thanks. I’m okay.”

Derek hears a noise and turns to see Cora standing by his door with a worried look on her face. Sitting straight up on the bed, he’s wide awake now and, without realizing it, taking deep breaths himself. He wants to ask whether the boy’s alright, but it’s clear that he’s not. So instead, he asks, “What happened?”

“I remember it. I remember what they were saying in the dream,” Stiles tells him, voice still wheezy from his panic attack. “‘This isn’t you.’”

“What?” Derek furrows his brows, gesturing for Cora to go back to bed. But instead of leaving, she steps into his room and takes a seat on his bed to listen. He rolls his eyes but makes room for her.

“‘This isn’t you.’ That’s what everyone kept saying in my dream. ‘This isn’t you.’ I don’t know what it means. Deaton said it was the darkness, but why does that phrase keep popping up?” Stiles makes a noise of frustration on the other line.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, wishing he could provide an answer to the problem.

“I don’t know what to do, Derek. I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep. It feels like something’s coming,” Stiles admits. “And I know Scott and Allison went through the same thing I did that day, but it doesn’t seem to be affecting them like this. Maybe I’m just losing my mind.”

Cora shoots him a pointed look, and he knows exactly what she wants him to say. He wants to offer to return to Beacon Hills too, to help out—to simply _be there_ —but he’s immediately reminded of all his mistakes and failures and he retracts his thoughts. He would rather not live through all the misfortunes and suffer through all the memories again. No, as much as he wants to help, he’s not that brave or noble.

She seems to sense his train of thoughts and leaves the matter alone, content to just lie down, across his legs.

“Normally, I’d agree, but I don’t think that’s the case this time,” Derek offers.

Stiles manages a weak chuckle. “That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” he says out of habit.

“Don’t be such a sour wolf,” Stiles immediately retorts. “Need I remind you of all the times I saved your werewolf-y ass?”

“Werewolf-y isn’t a word,” Derek points out, for the sake of riling the boy up.

It works and Stiles huffs, “Oh my god, could you be any more pedantic?”

“Yes. Easily.”

Cora snorts in agreement and he half-heartedly kicks her from under his blanket.

“Shouldn’t we go back?” she asks him later, after Stiles hangs up in favour of re-watching Sherlock to get ready for the new season. Cora, his little sister with the tireless fighting spirit has never been one to take things sitting down, and it’s one of the things he loves and admires about her.

“We’ll go back if they need us to,” he tells her, meaning it. He might feel uneasy about returning to Beacon Hills, but he won’t turn his backs on them when they need him.

She seems satisfied with that answer for now.

\--

The fourth time Stiles calls, Derek has no idea what time it is. It’s still dark out and it feels like he had slept for mere minutes before his phone started ringing. Knowing full well who it is, he picks it up and asks, “Stiles?”

There’s gasping on the other line.

“Oh god,” Stiles rasps. “Oh god. Red. So much red. Get it off. Get it off! This isn’t me. Coming. They’re coming.”

Throwing the covers off and climbing out of bed, he frowns. “Who’s coming? Stiles? Stiles!”

“There was so much blood. Oh god. Was it me? It’s the darkness. Help. This isn’t me,” Stiles blurts, voice strained and showing no sign of having heard him. “This isn’t me. This isn’t me.”

“Stiles! You need to calm down!” he’s yelling into the phone now and pacing around his room, wanting nothing more than to reach through to the boy. “ _Stiles_ , listen to me! You’re alright! It was just a dream!”

“I don’t know what happened. Was it me? Can’t wash it off. Why isn’t it coming off?”

“What? What happened!?”

When the boy continues mumbling to himself, Derek finally snaps.

“ _Stiles!_ ”

There’s a sharp pause on the other line.

“Stiles?” Derek holds his breath, waiting for a response.

Finally, Stiles takes a shuddery breath and asks, “…Derek?”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

“Yes…no. No, I’m not. It felt like something was coming and there was so much blood in my hands and my reflection—oh my god, what’s happening to me?” Stiles asks, voice on the edge of panic again. 

“Nothing’s happening to you, Stiles. It was just a dream,” he tries, despite not feeling the least bit convinced himself.

Stiles makes a noise that sounds too close to a choked sob. “I don’t know what to do, Derek.”

“What you’re going to do is tell Scott and get Deaton to set up wards,” he orders, because even though he's not and has never been Stiles' alpha, the boy is in clear need of _something_ to concentrate on to keep him grounded.

“Get Scott and Deaton to help,” the boy repeats. “Yeah, okay, instructions. Instructions are good. I can do that. Thanks.”

Derek frowns. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Wow, this must be really serious if you’re this concerned,” Stiles says with a weak chuckle. “I’ll be fine.”

There’s a pause.

“Hey, Derek, look, I…” Stiles starts, but then he hesitates and trails off. “Never mind. It’s nothing Forget it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Although there’s dread building in his gut already, he says, “Stiles, we’ll come back.”

“What? Really?”

Derek can hear the relief and astonishment in the boy’s voice, and when he turns around, he sees Cora standing by the door with a small smile of approval on her face. For the first time in years, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s doing the right thing.

“Yeah. We’re coming back to Beacon Hills, so just hold on.”


	2. 03x13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching 03x13, I decided to add a little something to this fic to bridge it to the episode.

“I can’t read a thing.”

That’s when things get too real.

Stiles spends the rest of that night staring at his computer and trying to decipher the words on the screen. He has to close his eyes to type, using muscle memory instead of visual cues because he knows the letters won’t be there. Reading OGLOEG on the screen, only the colours and the font of the letters reassure him that he typed in the right address.

His heart sinks. If he can’t read, he can’t do research, and if he can’t do research, he can’t get information, and if he can’t get information, what good is he? Scott still has his wolfy powers, however unstable, and Allison’s just generally kickass.

His first instinct is to pick up his phone and report the new findings to Derek because Scott already knows. Well, technically, Derek also knows something’s happening, but to suddenly have words scrambling themselves, that definitely warrants a call.

It isn’t until he picks up his phone that he realizes how much of a challenge it’ll be to find Derek in his list of contacts. Unlike his laptop, his phone doesn’t have a separate keyboard he can feel out. Scratching the back of his head, he slowly begins scrolling down his contacts list until he gets past the third break. He’s in the D’s now. That’s a good start, he reassures himself.

Looking at the scrambled letters in the D section, he frowns and wonders exactly who these D’s are. He doesn’t remember making friends with people with names that start with D’s—except Danny. And Deaton. He doubts he has ‘darach’ or Deucalion in his contacts, so at the very least, he won’t be calling up a dead person/ex-teacher or a sociopathic werewolf (however close Derek might fall into this category at times).

He goes through the D’s one by one, checking to see if there’ve been any outgoing calls, then through a combination of the process of elimination and trial and error, he finally gets the generic, built-in voicemail message that Derek refused to replace.

Stiles frowns. It’s rare for Derek to not pick up his phone—even when he’s driving (something Stiles has reprimanded him for on multiple occasions). And if not him, usually Cora picks up for him seeing as he never bothered installing a password or any kind of security mechanism in it.

The tone rings.

“Hey Derek, it’s Stiles. I’m—uhh, just give me a call back when you can, okay? Thanks.”

Hanging up, he decides to go visit his dad at his office. When he gets there, the world seems to have sorted itself out and the words around the room make sense to him again. Relief courses through his veins. He’s never been so happy to be able to read before.

If I can read, then this can’t be a dream, he tells himself.

Though, after the talk with his father, he almost wishes he was back in bed, asleep.

His phone never rings that day and Stiles wonders if he had just dreamt up making the call.

\--

The next day doesn’t get any better for him.

There was the signing in class (nothing will ever be scarier than a perfectly serious and _silent_ Coach Finstock), and then the unexpected Bardo-death talk from Kira. He really hopes the three of them aren’t actually in some transitional state between life and death with demons and deities, but given their luck and history, it’s all too possible. Then there’s the talk with Deaton.

When is a door not a door?

Stiles hates his subconscious sometimes because seriously? A riddle? He also hates that Scott got the answer before him. And he’s getting kind of close to hating Deaton with his ‘I know what’s wrong but won’t explicitly explain things to you because you’re clearly stuck in some horror game and I’m just a NPC with repeating lines used to further the plot’ look.

How’s he supposed to know how to close the door to his mind?

He would’ve guessed sleep but that’s clearly the wrong answer in this situation.

Luckily, before he can get too frustrated, they run into his dad, who provides them with an excellent distraction that is the Tate case. It doesn’t go well. In fact, he would even go so far as to say it went terribly. Not only did they fail, they upset a man who lost his entire family years ago, and he had to break the news to Scott about his father.

After dropping Scott off, he goes home and throws himself on his bed. Taking out his phone, he squints at the letters.

Scrambled again.

Letters scramble and numbers turn into symbols.

Either way, he’s as good as illiterate.

Great.

Stiles wonders if he’s dreaming again. Maybe everything that just happened didn’t actually happen. Maybe he’ll wake up screaming again. Going to his call log (thank god for icons), he dials the most recently outgoing call. Hopefully, he’ll get through to Derek this time—assuming he actually called him last time.

He gets Derek’s voicemail again and frowns. Either Derek lost and/or destroyed his phone or something’s wrong.

The tone rings.

“Derek? It’s Stiles again—or I think ‘again’? Pretty sure I called you yesterday, but maybe I didn’t. Anyway, is everything okay? You said you were coming back, right? Because things are…well, things are getting worse on this end, and I don’t know what to do anymore. Just give me a call back when you can, I guess. Bye.”

Tossing his phone to the side, he opts for staring at the ceiling because it’s less disheartening than trying to read the mess of letters and symbols in his textbooks or laptop. Glancing over at one of the posters in his room to check, he sighs when it still looks a spoonful of alphabet soup.

He wonders why Derek hasn’t shown up yet. It’s been over a week since their last conversation when Derek said he would be coming back, and despite all his faults, he trusts Derek to keep his word.

Stiles is still lying on his bed, lost in thought and too afraid to sleep, when Scott comes in with determination written all over his face.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, sitting up.

“You and me, we’re gonna go out and find the body.”

His phone still doesn’t ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen Wolf seems to have a thing for ripping Derek's shirt off, chaining him up and torturing him, doesn't it? Tbh, if they were trying to break him, psychological torture would probably be a lot more effective on Derek than physical torture given everything he's been through. And where's Cora? 
> 
> Silent Coach Finstock was actually the most disturbing part of the episode. 
> 
> The father-son moments were priceless though. And I hope Melissa was talking about the Sheriff in her love-speech.
> 
> \--
> 
> Extra: Derek's response to not calling back would probably be: "I was a little too busy being _tortured_ with my psychotic uncle to call you back."
> 
> Stiles would probably rolls his eyes and say, "It's always the torture with you, isn't it?"
> 
> And he'd be right because it is.


	3. 03x21

It’s a relief when returns his phone to him, surprisingly unharmed from the bomb. Derek doesn’t turn it on until Allison and the Sheriff have left, leaving him alone with Chris Argent—a situation that’s’ been happening far more often than he’s comfortable with. The screen lights up with the logo of his service provider and fades into the main screen.

Much to his surprise, there’s a missed call and voicemail from Stiles. It’s from the night of the explosion. Ignoring Chris’ expectant look, he raises his phone to his ear and listens.

_“You have one new voicemail message. First new message…”_

Stiles’ voice is hushed and ragged. “Derek? Oh my god, you were at the station—please tell me you’re okay. I’m sorry—I don’t know what else I might’ve done these last few days. He only lets me see things in bits and pieces. I need to stop him somehow but I don’t know how. What if I can’t? Isaac, Coach, everyone in that explosion,” there’s a hitch in his breathing, “that…that wasn’t me…”

There’s a soft, shuddery inhale and then Stiles’ voice is heard again, quiet and unsure, “That wasn’t me…was it?”

_“End of messages. To erase this message—”_

Derek ends the call without deleting the message. He wants nothing more than to find Stiles and tell him no, that wasn’t him. He was on that rooftop with Scott, and he could smell how hard the boy struggled against himself to protect everyone. He had been so close to the boy. Outside the hospital room, at the station—they were in the _same room_ and he heardStiles’ _voice_ —they were so close, but they still haven’t been able to speak to one another since he promised to come back to Beacon Hills to help.

Help…he hopes that’s what he’s doing.

“Who was it?” Chris asks.

He shakes his head and pockets the phone. “No one. Let’s go.”

They find nothing at the Eichen House, not that they get very far with their investigation. From the moment they enter the building, all Derek can smell is fear, anger, sadness, confusion, and pain. He does his best to ignore the chills he gets down his spine at the thought of Stiles being here for any period of time—Stiles whose only defense against the world is his words, words which don’t work in a place like this. They only get to the main office when they get that call from Allison, telling them to meet at the Sheriff’s house where Stiles had apparently been seen.

When they arrive, Stiles has long since disappeared, leaving behind his chess set with all its labels. His name has been stuck onto the king and when the Sheriff points out that he’s one move from being checkmated, he can’t help but wonder with the others whether it’s the Nogitsune bragging, or a warning from Stiles.

They all go their separate ways to the loft, agreeing to let the Sheriff enter first. On the way there, his phone rings. Startled by the sudden noise, he pulls over and fishes it out of his pocket.

Stiles’ name flashes on the screen.

Without hesitation, he accepts the call and holds the phone up to his ear. “Stiles?”

There’s a dark chuckle on the other line.

He immediately scowls. “You’re not Stiles.”

“Isn’t it interesting,” the Nogitsune starts without acknowledging his words, “that a human boy’s capable of taking away so much pain? Even without special powers, he somehow manages to sooth the pain inside you, even if it was just for a little while. And you’re just so full of pain, aren’t you, Derek? Paige, your family, Kate Argent, Laura, Boyd, Erica, and now Isaac. There’s so much blood on your hands. So many deaths. And I know about each and every single one.

“I went to your old house the other day, did you know that? I thought there’d be something lingering there but there isn’t, is there? Because you’re carrying it all around inside. All that pain and strife…I can practically feel it radiating from you even now.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s from the sound of your voice grating on my ears,” he bites out, barely stifling an eye-roll.

There’s an amused huff on the other line. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty more in store for you. But this is nice too, isn’t it? Talking to each other again.”

Derek has to grit his teeth to stop himself from snapping. “Again?” he asks instead.

“We haven’t talked since you were over in New York, have we?” the Nogitsune all but purrs.

“That wasn’t you. I was talking to Stiles then,” Derek snaps.

The Nogitsune lets out a bark of laughter and it makes his stomach churn at how wrong it sounds. That voice should be spewing sarcasm and information, not _this_. “That’s the problem with wolves, isn’t it? Always so slow to pick up on things. Don’t you see? I _am_ Stiles now.”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am, Derek.  _This is me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when the characters on this show used to make jokes and be all happy about life? Remember when they used to _smile_? It feels like ages ago, doesn't it?
> 
> I just really wanted to write this bit after watching 03x21. Sorry for adding yet another chapter to this even though it was supposedly complete. Let me warn you now, there will most likely be one more chapter to come when the season comes to an end. Hell, I'm just going to make this out of 4 chapters. See you at the end of the season!


	4. 03x24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was a dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the season finale.

“It was a dream.”

Sitting in that locker room, Derek can’t help taking a moment just to look at the boy in front of him. The last time he saw Stiles was when he was looking over Aiden’s lifeless body. They had stood there, staring at one another from afar. He remembers the boy’s paleness and how he was being propped up by Lydia. Despite that, they still haven’t talked since New York.

There’s an unexpected sense of relief, being able to see Stiles safe and unharmed and himself--well, mostly himself. Surely, no one could be expected to go through what Stiles went through and come out unchanged. Derek can attest to the changes a person can undergo after traumatizing events. But Stiles is safe and alive, and Derek likes to think that that counts for something—even though he can’t really be credited for any of it.

His name may have been on the king piece, but what did he really do in the grand scheme of things?

Not very much.

Not enough.

Derek can’t even begin to count how many hours of sleep he’s lost worrying about the boy, not that he would ever admit to it. To see Stiles standing there in the locker room with him, he can’t help feeling a rush of euphoria at being able to debrief and discuss things with the boy again. 

For a moment in that locker room, it feels like that summer after Erica and Boyd went missing. The two of them poured over all the information they could get their hands on and bounced ideas off of each other before going out to test and investigate the plausible ones. It was futile in the end, and Erica and Boyd are gone now, but they tried, and it kept them busy and sane, helpless as they were. 

Selfish as it may sound, he’ll always remember it as their summer.

“Actually, it was more like a nightmare,” he says.

“Okay, what happened?” Stiles asks in his information-collecting tone, his arms wrapped around himself.

“It started with these hunters that caught Peter and me after we left Cora…”

He recalls his dream of the hunters in his loft, looking for _La Loba_ and finding out that they weren’t talking about Cora. Then came the smoke screen and the attack, and the gun went off. Stiles listens, silent and thoughtful. “Who was it?”

Derek glances up. Instead of answering, he says, “There’s a lot of myths about how people can be turned into a werewolf—usually a bite. There’s one about rain water.”

Stiles nods. “Drinking rain water out of a puddle of a werewolf’s print.”

“There’s another one…” he mutters, recalling Peter slashing Kate’s throat open, “about turning from a scratch—if the claws went deep enough.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, sitting down in front of him. Just their proximity to each other and hearing his name being said is enough to ease a little of the tension. “If this was all just a dream, why do you look so worried?” he asks.

He looks up at Stiles, eyes searching. “Because I don’t remember waking up,” Derek tells him, not bothering to hide the fear and uncertainty in his voice. 

Just as Stiles had comforted him in his time of need, he had listened to Stiles question his sanity. He’d sat outside the hospital ward while the boy got tested for his mother’s disease. He had talked to the Nogitsune and witnessed the mere tip of the madness that dwelled in the boy. They’re past the point of putting up fronts and pretenses.

“So tell me: how do you know? How do you know if you’re still dreaming?” he asks, because if anyone knows the answer, it’d be Stiles.

“Your fingers,” Stiles tells him. “In dreams, you have extra fingers.”

Without thinking, Derek grabs the boy’s wrist and counts.

He counts again.

Still six.

His heart skips a beat in dread.

Derek falls onto his knees and looks at the bullet hole in his chest in disbelief. “It’s real.”

“This is a dream. This is the dream,” he says in realization, back in the locker room. Suddenly, he feels just as far away from the boy and helpless as he had, on the phone, in his room back in New York. Only this time, he’s the one in need of help.

Stiles doesn’t reply, watching him with a sad glint in his eyes, his arm still in Derek’s grasp.

“You’re real,” he gasps, looking up as that all too familiar woman approaches him.

Kate smirks and opens her mouth to speak.

As the dream fades, Derek turns to Stiles and, with disappointment and heartbreak colouring his voice, whispers, “You’re still not you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the last chapter Promise! So how'd everyone find 3b? I have very mixed feelings about it.
> 
> Weren't we supposed to find out Stiles' real name at some point?


End file.
